Agassi hates tennis - and himself

[A Human]

By STEPHANIE MYLES, The Gazette

Open: An Autobiography, by Andre Agassi, Alfred A. Knopf, 388 pages.

During summer in 1997, tennis star Andre Agassi did the dangerous drug
crystal meth, came up positive on a drug test, lied to the Association
of Tennis Professionals in a letter begging for clemency, and was let
off the hook.

That is the "gotcha" revelation in Agassi's new autobiography, the
seller, the brief bit getting the publicity and engendering all the
criticism. But it's such a tiny part of the big picture of the man's
life, it doesn't even make the top 10 of what stays with you once the
final page is turned.

It's a dark, sometimes cruel, biting, angry, desperate book - so at
odds with the congenial, philanthropic image Agassi has so carefully
crafted in retirement.

It almost makes you wonder if today's Agassi isn't just another act,
the way he acted as if he loved tennis when he truly detested it, the
way his thick head of hair turned out to be an act, the way he
pretended to love first wife Brooke Shields.

It opens with the closing, his last career win at the 2006 U.S. Open
against Marcos Baghdatis of Cyprus.

The words "I hate tennis" appear in the third paragraph. The rest of
the book aims to back up that claim.

Tennis isn't all that Agassi hates. Mostly, he hates himself. Father
Mike severely scarred his three older children in his quest to make a
tennis phenom, and did such damage to Agassi that he seemingly has
spent his entire life looking for father figures for a do-over.

Pops Agassi clearly had issues. He shot at hawks with his rifle and
regularly left the family's house with a roof full of rotting
carcasses. He shaved without using any cream, razor directly on skin,
letting the blood drip down his face and dry up.

But you also know, as with so many rabid tennis fathers, that young
Andre would never have become what he is without that constant, cruel,
relentless pushing.

Agassi wouldn't have his millions. He wouldn't have the love of his
life, fellow tennis icon Steffi Graf, or his two beautiful children.
He wouldn't have been able to start the school in Las Vegas of which
he is justifiably proud.

But he's so wrapped up in his pain, he seems unable to see it from
that perspective.

Agassi surrounds himself with devoted people. Physical trainer Gil
Reyes is the true father figure in his life, and just about the only
person in the book besides Graf that Agassi doesn't take a shot at.

There's childhood friend-turned-agent Perry Rogers, and a former
pastor-turned-music-composer named J.P.

There was former coach and guru Nick Bollettieri, who quickly became
dependent financially; Agassi was quick to turn it to his advantage.
Others came and went, but they're not mentioned.

As open as he says he is, Agassi completely avoids discussing the
recent major rift between he and Rogers, which ended with Rogers suing
Graf last year, ending a lifelong friendship.

Agassi rakes poor Shields over the coals, portraying her as a self-
absorbed, shallow woman. Not only can't she understand his angst (it
might have helped if he had shared some of it with her), she doesn't
even seem to really care.

You wonder how she reacted when she saw herself in the manuscript,
through his eyes.

Shortly after he and Shields broke up, Agassi and coach Brad Gilbert
put together a military-precision game plan to win the heart of Graf,
for whom he had always pined.

Finally, they have dinner. Writes Agassi: "We talk for the first time
about tennis. When I tell her that I hate it, she turns to me with a
look that says, Of course. Doesn't everybody?" Bingo. The rest is
history. His whole life, he told people he hated the game. No one
believed him, no one understood, until Graf came along.

From a literary standpoint, the book is brilliantly crafted by
Pulitzer-prize winning author J.R. Moehringer from Agassi's
recollections. It's a big-time page-turner, wisely written in the
present tense so you feel as though you're vividly reliving every
moment with him.

He's particularly rough on fellow American tennis icon Jimmy Connors.
He really, really doesn't like Boris Becker (who clearly returns the
favour, based on his highly critical comments about the book). He
mocks Michael Chang for his religious beliefs.

It's a fascinating read. The expectations here were so high, and the
book exceeded them - although in unexpected ways.

You feel the raw pain and anger so acutely in every page, you wonder
if getting it all down on paper somehow helped Agassi rid himself of
some demons.

You hope so. That's an incredibly heavy load he's carrying.

smy...@thegazette.canwest.com
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